


Because Family Is More Than Just Blood

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Domestic, Don’t copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, Food and Friends, Found Family, Happy Derek Hale, Happy Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Pack Feels, Sterek Secret Santa 2019, domestic sterek - Freeform, family and friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-01-20 23:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘a watched pot never boils’?”“This pie,” Stiles proclaimed loudly, pointing at the oven while half-turning towards Derek behind him, “is a Stilinski tradition! It will not be ruined by an oven who shows favouritism!”Derek shrugged, spooning another bite of cereal into his mouth. “My muffins were a little burned, so not that much favouritism.”Stiles sputtered and flailed one hand angrily at Derek, which had him land on his ass on the linoleum floor right in front of the oven.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 33
Kudos: 708
Collections: The Sterek Secret Santa - Edition 2019





	Because Family Is More Than Just Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apollonian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollonian/gifts).

> Happy Holidays to [Apollonian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollonian/pseuds/apollonian)! Hope you enjoy your Stereky Secret Santa for the year <3 
> 
> Hope everyone has a great holiday season!

Stiles squinted suspiciously through the glass, crouched almost uncomfortably in such a way that his thighs were starting to burn. He really needed to work out more if crouching was making his muscles complain.

Or maybe he was technically squatting. Were crouching and squatting the same thing? They seemed like the same thing when put into action but maybe the circumstances determined whether it was a crouch or a squat.

He supposed crouching could mean any number of things associated with lowering oneself, like bending at the waist or flat out bending the knees and ducking.

Shit, were ducking and crouching kind of the same thing?

Didn’t matter! The point was, Stiles was positive that he was being sabotaged.

“It’s not working,” he proclaimed. “It’s definitely not working.”

“It’s working fine,” Derek insisted from his spot at the table. He’d wandered into the kitchen a while ago to grab a bite to eat and had kind of never left.

Instead, the Werewolf had poured himself a bowl of Corn Pops—seriously, all sugar, fuck Werewolves—and then leaned back against their small kitchen table to watch Stiles crouching in front of the oven.

Squatting. Crouching? _Whatever_!

“It’s not working,” Stiles insisted again. “I swear, if this oven ruins my very important first ever pie on the first ever holiday we have in this house, the oven and I, we’re gonna share some words. Mine will be in the form of a sledgehammer.”

“Worked fine for my cheese muffins this morning.” Derek took another bite of his Corn Pops, the crunching sound of the hard cereal audible even from where Stiles was squatting.

Crouching? _What**ever**_!

“Well maybe the oven likes you better,” Stiles insisted, rounding on Derek to level him with a glare. “Don’t rub it in, Derek. Fucking rude.” He faced the oven again.

“Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘a watched pot never boils’?”

“This pie,” Stiles proclaimed loudly, pointing at the oven while half-turning towards Derek behind him, “is a Stilinski tradition! It will not be ruined by an oven who shows favouritism!”

Derek shrugged, spooning another bite of cereal into his mouth. “My muffins were a little burned, so not that much favouritism.”

Stiles sputtered and flailed one hand angrily at Derek, which had him land on his ass on the linoleum floor right in front of the oven.

At least he didn’t have to argue with himself over whether he was crouching or squatting anymore.

“_Why_ would you _tell_ me that?!” Stiles demanded, then whipped back around to face the oven, pointing a threatening finger at it. “You over-bake my pie, I’m seriously buying a sledgehammer!”

That earned him a laugh from the Werewolf behind him and Stiles resisted the urge to turn around and glare again. This was serious business, there was no room for laughter! This pie was sacred!

And it was especially sacred now, because this was going to be the first ever holiday event in their new place and that was _important_! It was like breaking in their home to future holiday events!

Stiles knew it wasn’t as important to the others as it was to him, but this had been a long, hard, somewhat frustrating road. But he’d made it, dammit! He had beaten the odds, conquered over the non-believers, _earned_ the title of Werewolf whisperer—even if it was self-appointed.

It hadn’t been easy knocking down the walls of one Derek Hale and forcing him to let someone in for his own good. Stiles was stubborn, and Derek was tired, so it eventually worked out in Stiles’ favour. While their friendship had been rocky at times, Stiles acknowledged all friendships were, even his and Scott’s.

But it was the shift in their friendship that had been slow and frustrating. Sure, Derek had let him in, they’d become friends, things had worked out, but it was hard becoming _more_. Derek had made it very clear he cared about Stiles, and Stiles was about as subtle as a punch in the face, so Derek evidently knew that _Stiles_ cared about _him_.

Derek didn’t want to proceed, though. Too many things had happened to him in his life. Too many deaths, too many losses, too many painful memories. So every time Stiles took a step forward, Derek took ten steps back. Eventually it turned into a race of who could move faster and, luckily for Stiles, he was pretty quick for a human.

They’d started slow, because Stiles wasn’t an idiot and he knew Derek needed slow, and eventually things had moved in a smooth progression forward. Stiles started hanging out at the loft more, Derek cleared out a drawer for him, Stiles’ favourite brands of coffee _and_ cereal appeared in the pantry. The little things made it clear this was moving forward for both of them.

The problem was, Derek had bought the loft kind of as a placeholder. He hadn’t planned on sticking around in Beacon Hills forever, and he had a lot of bad memories associated with the loft. So when he started talking about selling and moving, Stiles had offered to help him buy a new place for them to move in together. Very subtly, of course, because Stiles was the king of subtlety.

Not like he’d said, “That sounds awesome, but we need a huge kitchen because with how often the pack comes over, I’m going to murder you in your sleep if we don’t have a huge kitchen. Also, something reasonably affordable because I’m not made of money like you.”

Of _course_ that wasn’t what he’d said. At all. Not even close.

Fast forward four months and they owned a house. It wasn’t huge by any means, but it was comfortable. Derek had kept the price to a minimum so that Stiles wouldn’t choke at the mortgage amount that came out of his bank account monthly, and Stiles got his huge kitchen.

They were happy. It was nice. Stiles loved living with Derek. Officially. In their _own house_. It was the best, really.

But this was their first holiday event in _their_ house with the pack, and he needed it to be amazing. He _wanted_ it to be amazing, because he wanted Derek to have only good memories of this new home they shared.

They were doing what they’d done for all the other holidays this year—albeit, at someone else’s house until today. The pack was coming over with empty stomachs and food, and they were going to have a huge Christmas potluck. Stiles was excited because his dad was going to make his grandmother’s Pączki, which Stiles only allowed once a year. They were basically Polish donuts, but the most amazing Polish donuts in the world. Literally. So fucking good.

It was a Stilinski tradition. His dad made his grandmother’s Pączki, and Stiles made his grandfather on his mother’s side’s famous strawberry-rhubarb pie. They always had two desserts at Christmas, but that was what Christmas was about in the Stilinski household.

Food and laughter in the kitchen.

And apparently also for Werewolves, because Derek had spent the previous night prepping for the potluck and all morning cooking and baking. Because they both needed the oven, Boyd had offered to make the turkey, which Stiles had only agreed to because Erica made _the best_ stuffing in the world. He could eat a whole plate of just stuffing, it was so delicious.

Kira had opted to make a ham, just so there was some variety, and the rest of the pack had picked out various dishes and vegetables that they would be bringing. Originally, Stiles had wondered if it might be too much, but then he remembered pretty much the entire pack barring him, his dad and Melissa were Supernaturals and _man_ could they eat.

Now he was thinking maybe he should’ve made two pies.

Derek wandered past Stiles to the sink while eating the last bite of his cereal, drinking down the overly sugary milk and then rinsing the bowl. He left it in the sink since the dishwasher was already running, then moved back to Stiles’ side, where he’d taken up his crouching position in front of the oven once more.

“Stiles,” Derek said, one hand at the back of his neck and bending down to kiss the crown of his head, “the pie will be fine. You don’t need to babysit it.”

“I won’t have time to make another one if the oven rebels.”

“The oven is not rebelling, it’ll behave,” Derek promised, squeezing once at the back of Stiles’ neck. “Come on, help me finish up with the decorations.”

Stiles knew this was a trap. Derek was _horrible_ at decorating, especially when it came to Christmas trees. Stiles had seen what he did with Christmas trees and he would implode if he walked out there and saw a red bauble _right beside_ another red bauble. These were things Derek did! Not even on purpose, he was just bad at decorating.

It was why Stiles and Erica had been in charge of the paint when the house had been bought. Derek had wanted to paint the kitchen black. _Black_! Who painted their kitchen black?! No one, especially not Derek Hale, because thankfully he had Stiles who managed to talk him down to a very nice pearl colour with a navy blue accent wall which looked _much_ nicer.

And not like a fucking dungeon.

Stiles inhaled deeply, warring with himself. It was leave the pie to the rebellious oven, or suffer the consequences of a horrible decorating job in the living room.

“Fine,” Stiles muttered after a brief internal debate. He could _not_ handle a ruined tree on top of a ruined pie. Only one disaster allowed.

Checking his phone had the timer set properly, Stiles followed Derek out into their living/dining room area and got to work helping him finish up with all the decorations.

Honestly, he was still pretty bummed about the lack of ability to deck the place out in mistletoe, but he didn’t feel like killing almost all of his friends, so it was best they forego that holiday tradition. Besides, the wolves were all very open with each other, they didn’t need random mistletoe to kiss each other when they felt like it.

Erica was lucky Derek wasn’t a jealous boyfriend, because she took every opportunity that presented itself to smack a big wet one on Stiles. Actually, maybe Stiles was lucky _Boyd_ wasn’t a jealous boyfriend, because he was very scary when he was angry. Boyd didn’t get angry often, but when he did, it was scary. So scary. Stiles still had nightmares.

They were still arguing over where to hang the last set of fairy lights—“Stiles, why did you buy _eight_ boxes of lights?!”—when the doorbell rang. It was still too early for the pack to arrive, but predictably when Stiles went to grab the door, yelling threats over his shoulder at Derek about the lights, it was the sheriff.

“Yes! Pączki!” Stiles proclaimed, reaching for the tupperware his father was holding.

The older man held it out of reach and gave Stiles a look. “This is for later. You don’t get to hog them all just because you were first getting to them.”

“What kind did you make? Did you do the Nutella ones? Please tell me you did the Nutella ones!”

“Nutella is not Polish,” the sheriff insisted while heading for the kitchen. Stiles noticed him glance at the oven, like he wanted to be sure Stiles had made the pie, as usual.

Of _course_ he’d made the pie! Who did his father think he has, a heathen?

To be fair, this was their first Christmas not living in the same household, so his dad probably wanted to make sure all Stilinski traditions would continue despite no longer living together.

“Dad!” Stiles whined.

The sheriff put the Pączki in the microwave for safekeeping, then patted his son’s cheek lightly on his way back out of the kitchen. “I made _one_, just for you. It pained my soul, but you know I always make you one.”

Grinning, Stiles fist-pumped and followed after his father, only to let out a loud exclamation at the atrocity of what Derek was trying to do with the last set of fairy lights. He was wrapping them around a lamp.

A _lamp_!

The poor guy was hopeless, he was lucky Stiles was so patient. A saint, really. Nobody else could survive the walking disaster that _was_ Derek Hale and his attempts at decorating _anything_.

“I bought some beer, if you’d like to help yourself to one, John,” Derek informed the sheriff.

“Thanks son.” When he disappeared back into the kitchen, Stiles grabbed at the fairy lights and then proceeded to order Derek to run them up along the top of the curtain rod and down the two sides. It wasn’t the best place, but it was the only space they had left, and was better than wrapping them around a _lamp_.

Seriously, a lamp? A _lamp_, Derek?! Good Lord!

After averting that disaster, Stiles was heading back for the kitchen to check on the pie while his dad and Derek chatted in the living room when the doorbell rang again. It was still much too early for the pack to arrive, but when he opened the door, Kira was there with Liam and Mason, the three of them insisting they’d been ready for hours and hadn’t felt like waiting around at home anymore.

Stiles knew that some people in the pack would only be around for a little while, considering they had families at home—Liam’s parents, Kira’s parents, Boyd’s grandmother and so on—but that kind of made their early arrivals more meaningful because it was obvious they wanted to share the holiday spirit with their pack as much as their family.

Scott was the next to arrive, followed shortly thereafter by Erica and Boyd, who’d then argued with Scott over whose job it was to pick up Isaac. Melissa saved the day by arriving moments later with Isaac. Stiles had known the others would forget the poor guy, so he’d given that very important job to one of the only people he knew would remember to actually pick him up.

Not to say Boyd, Erica and Scott didn’t care about Isaac, they were just very into their own worlds right now and Isaac often got forgotten on the sidelines as the still-single friend. The perpetual third wheel, which was what Stiles used to be until Derek. He had to look out for his own kind, and Isaac seemed to appreciate that if the beaming grin he got was anything to go by.

Stiles had expected Lydia and Allison to be next, but surprisingly it was Jackson. Normally he liked being fashionably late, but apparently the prospect of good food and better company made him a little softer around the edges. It made sense, considering Jackson had mellowed out the past few years, not to mention his parents were never home.

He was one person Stiles was sure would take an eternity to kick out at the end of the night, if he left at all. He might just sleep on the couch...

When Lydia and Allison did finally show up, the last of the group and still half an hour early, Stiles figured there was no point in pretending this wasn’t going to be a wild and crazy night. If any big bads showed up during his holiday dinner though, he was going to go postal on whatever it was and it was going to wish it’d never _heard_ of Beacon Hills.

Nobody messed with Stiles’ first holiday party at his home that he owned with his boyfriend. _Nobody_!

“Is that the famous pie?” Erica asked when Stiles brought it out to the small table. They’d opted not to have a formal sit-down dinner, considering there weren’t enough chairs, and there was too much food to accommodate both the dishes _and_ plates.

“It is,” Stiles agreed, setting it down on the side table that was reserved for the desserts. The dining table had all the actual food, and it barely contained it all. Derek and Boyd had been forced to bring out the kitchen table for the desserts.

“Looks yummy.” Erica started to lean over to stick her finger in it and Stiles slapped rather violently at her hand.

He was pretty sure he hurt his hand more than he hurt hers.

“What _are_ you, a savage? If you’re gonna ruin the sanctity of my pie with your grubby hands, have the decency to use a fork.”

Erica grinned at him, all teeth, and flashed her amber eyes. It seemed she was only interested in riling him up, because she plastered a wet kiss on his cheek, Stiles letting out a sound of disgust at the amount of drool, and then she pranced away to go hang off Boyd. He was currently having a heated debate with Mason and Liam about Lacrosse being a bastard sport and how it was ruining other good sports that existed.

The girls were all sitting on the couch chatting about something or another, Melissa was fussing over Scott because he’d worn a tie that he hadn’t managed to tie properly—why he had a tie, Stiles didn’t know, but he suspected it had something to do with Allison—and Isaac, Derek and the sheriff were discussing the difference between Pączki and American donuts.

Stiles smiled a little while watching the pack interact. It had been a long, difficult road to reach this point, and some days he still couldn’t believe they’d survived it. Things had been pretty crazy for a while, what with the whole Kanima thing, and the Alpha pack and the Darach and just general insanity and everything coming to kill them. The Nemeton had been an asshole for a few years but it seemed to have mellowed out lately, which was nice.

Not having someone or some_thing_ trying to kill them on the regular was pretty great.

“What are you smirking about, weirdo?” Jackson demanded, appearing beside him silently.

“I’m not allowed to be happy? I mean, look at these awesome decorations. I did an _amazing_ job getting this place festive.”

“You suck at colour coordination.”

“You’re just colour-blind and a Grinch,” Stiles countered. Jackson snorted, but Stiles knew he was pleased to be there despite not particularly loving Christmas.

When it became clear the wolves were going to start eating each other if they didn’t get any food into their stomachs, Derek said the food was ready to eat and everyone grabbed a plate and headed to the table so they could serve themselves buffet-style.

The humans got to go first, because if the wolves went first, there’d be nothing left. Melissa was very adamant that the dessert table was _off-limits_ until after the real food had been eaten and Stiles was grateful because he didn’t want to have to fight off the wolves for _that_, too.

He grabbed a little bit of everything, still smiling to himself while eying all the food he had to choose from. He loved that the pack knew each other so well that they didn’t have to talk about anything and everyone already knew they wouldn’t double up on any of the food. _And_ that they all wanted to ensure everyone had a good meal.

Kira had made ham because she knew Mason _hated_ turkey with a passion, and she’d wanted him to enjoy his Christmas dinner.

Erica had made the stuffing she _knew_ Stiles adored, but mama McCall had brought another variety that she’d mixed in some turkey broth because Jackson was allergic to some of the ingredients in Erica’s.

Scott had gone out of his way to ensure there was some grilled corn on the cob because he knew the sheriff _loved_ corn on the cob, but he’d also brought some other vegetables since the rest of the pack were “animals” and didn’t like corn because they were crazy, according to his father.

Derek had gone out to buy some nice wine and a case of beer because, while the wolves couldn’t get drunk, he knew the humans might like to have something nice to sip at while eating dinner.

All in all, it was a pack that took care of each other. A pack that looked at everyone in their little found family, and ensured that nobody felt left out and that everyone understood they had a place here. It was truly the most inclusive and loving family Stiles ever could’ve asked for.

“What are you so happy about?” Derek demanded when he went to join Stiles. He’d opted to sit in the armchair so Derek had perched himself on one of the armrests and was leaning into him heavily, pressing his lips to Stiles’ temple and leaving them there for longer than necessary, like he was just savouring the moment.

“My pie didn’t get ruined,” Stiles informed him.

“Mm, liar,” Derek teased, but he didn’t press for the truth and just kissed him again before sitting up a little straighter so he could eat.

Boyd came to perch himself on the other armrest, he and Derek talking over Stiles about how the renovations at Boyd and Erica’s place were coming along. Erica plopped herself in Stiles’ lap when she realized there was no space left, and he _only_ allowed it because she dumped the entirety of the stuffing she’d spooned onto her plate into his.

His father had capped him at three spoonfuls so having an extra two from Erica was a Godsend, even if his stomach would be angry with him later for overfeeding it.

“Stilinski, McCall is eating all the Pączki,” Jackson called from across the room.

“You stay away from my Nutella Pączki!” Stiles shot back, waving his fork threateningly towards where Scott was poking at all the Pączki, evidently trying to determine what was in them so he could choose one. “I hope you washed your hands!”

Scott turned, pretended to lick his palm, and then grabbed at a Pączki while maintaining eye contact with Stiles. The sheriff appeared behind him to whap him across the back of the head, and asked who wanted pie.

Stiles was pleased and a little honoured at the number of people who shot their hands up. Derek went to grab the ice cream from the freezer and Stiles started collecting all the various dinner plates so he could see about starting another load of dishes.

Kira helped him gather them up while Allison and Liam grabbed another set for the desserts. Everyone moved around each other easily in the kitchen, even though the pack hadn’t been around at the same time very often since he and Derek had moved in. They were all so attuned to one another it made it easy to move together. It was how they were when they were fighting enemies, as well. Perfectly in sync, able to determine what any one member was going to do, and balancing each other expertly.

Kira helped Stiles empty and reload the dishwasher and then they went back out to the main room. Derek had saved Stiles a piece of pie, bless him, but then proceed to help himself to more than half of it. Stiles didn’t mind, he and Derek shared food all the time, and he was petty full from all the stuffing anyway.

They’d insisted on no gift-giving this year since a lot of them were new homeowners and paying off student loans and whatnot, but Stiles knew nobody would abide by that rule. They’d all bought at least one small thing for each other and Erica excitedly started passing out gifts. Stiles was concerned at the predatory grin on her face when she handed over his from her and Boyd, and he felt like it would probably be best to open that one in private.

After another round of gathering dishes—Derek and Scott this time—the pack hung out together in the living/dining area and talked about plans for the next few days. Most of them had time off, barring Melissa and John, since they worked in industries that never stopped. Scott and Allison were heading up to a lakehouse for the rest of the week with Allison’s parents, which Lydia was extremely jealous about. Jackson was going to visit Ethan in London in a few days, and Liam and Mason were going to play video games to unwind and get ready for the new semester since they were still in university.

Erica and Boyd had grand plans to continue their renovations—something Erica looked more excited about than Boyd did. Stiles knew that Derek was planning on Skyping with Cora in the morning, and then they’d probably get to work on the back deck since it was rotting through at the base and Derek wanted it to be ready for barbecue season in the summer.

All in all, everyone sounded like they had some good plans and quality time coming up, and Stiles still couldn’t believe this was his life. A huge found family, an awesome boyfriend, a house he partly owned, a _successful_ Christmas dinner and a Nutella Pączki.

He couldn’t stop smiling.

Even when it seemed to take forever to kick people out. Considering most of them had other places to be, it was surprising how long it took for them to slowly trickle out. Jackson, predictably, was the last to go, but he and Stiles made plans to meet up before he headed out to ensure he’d bought Ethan a decent Christmas present.

While Stiles was sure it was fine, Jackson wanted his opinion, and who was he to say no? So he promised he’d help him out, bid him good night, and shut the front door once Jackson had climbed into his new Maserati and peeled away.

Stiles sighed and leaned back against the door as soon as their last guest had vacated the premises. He looked around at the mess left behind and couldn’t help but laugh a little. Having that many Werewolves in one small space was already a challenge, so he had to be glad none of their furniture had gotten destroyed.

He figured they’d learned from Thanksgiving, when Isaac and Jackson had been roughhousing at Erica and Boyd’s, and had broken a side-table. Erica had almost murdered them and the two had to grovel for weeks before she forgave them.

Well, Isaac grovelled. Jackson just spoiled her and bought her a whole bunch of pretty things she’d been coveting and had basically bought her forgiveness. Isaac had whined about it, but to be fair, it still counted. Jackson could afford to buy her forgiveness, and it wasn’t against pack rules to do that.

After all, people bought Stiles’ forgiveness with food all the time, including Isaac. Wasn’t Jackson’s fault he could afford to meet Erica’s very high expectations for buying back forgiveness.

“That was fun,” Derek said, moving up to Stiles and placing his hands on either side of his head, bracketing him against the door.

Stiles grinned. “It was, wasn’t it?” He reached up to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him down close enough to kiss him, but refraining. “We have a lot of cleanup to do tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Derek agreed, tilting his head so he could mouth open kisses along Stiles’ jaw towards his ear. “Isaac and Scott agreed to come help. Lydia said she’d drop in with some lunch and coffee and help supervise.”

“Goddess,” Stiles groaned, eyes sliding shut when Derek found that spot on his neck that made his knees weak. “I love coffee. But for that, we need to go to bed, so we can wake up to _have_ the coffee. Sleep?”

“Not now,” Derek said, biting lightly at Stiles’ neck one last time before pulling back, keeping him bracketed against the door. “I’m still hungry.”

Stiles grinned at the predatory look in the wolf’s eyes, which flashed Alpha red when Derek smelled the evident spike of arousal that shot through Stiles. “I suppose I _haven’t_ given you your Christmas present yet.”

“Is it you?” Derek leaned in to bite along his jaw again. “It better be you.”

“Not exactly, but I’m okay giving you multiple presents.” Stiles ducked out from under Derek’s arms and moved around him so he was backing away from him. Derek turned to look over his shoulder, still braced against the door, eyes bleeding red again. “Come and get me big, bad wolf.”

Derek grinned, a purely animalistic thing, and Stiles turned to race up the stairs, knowing full well Derek only let him win so they would end up in the bedroom instead of on the hallway carpet again.

Rugburn was a bitch, but Stiles tolerated it for Derek.

Derek was his home. Derek was his family. And even if the oven had over-baked his pie _just_ a little bit, this was still the best ever first Christmas in their new home.

He was glad he had an amazing family to share it with. And an even _more_ amazing boyfriend to end the night with.

Some days, Stiles was very happy Peter Hale had bitten Scott, because if he hadn’t, Stiles never would’ve met Derek.

And that would’ve been a damn shame.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis


End file.
